


Blackwatch Week 2018

by SadinaSaphrite



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch Week, Blood and Violence, Dismemberment, Gen, Genji Graphically Describes Losing the Fight to Hanzo, Genji is Angry, Near Death Experiences, Nightmares, Noodle Dragons, Overwatch Retribution, Panic, Smoke/Wraith Related Body Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-24 17:39:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14959091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadinaSaphrite/pseuds/SadinaSaphrite
Summary: A collection of short drabbles for Blackwatch Week 2018.Moira discovers that dragons are real, Gabe has an uncomfortable shuttle ride back from Operation Retribution, Gabe has a nightmare, McCree leaves Blackwatch, Gabe teaches Genji how to fight dirty, McCree and Genji have a serious discussion over drinks, and McCree and Gabe have a bonding moment.





	1. Plan B

**Author's Note:**

> I'm putting these together in a single collection this year because most of them should be drabbles less than 1000 words. I'm really excited to share these again, as it was Blackwatch Week 2017 that got me first writing Overwatch Fanfiction one year ago. Happy Blackwatch Week everyone, and here's to another year of fics!

The first time Moira saw the dragon, she was sure it was a trick. It had to be a hardlight projection, some ridiculous effect that the cyborg was using for dramatic flair. It was clearly an intimidation tactic, though she considered the loss to his stealth a cost that outweighed any benefit he must gain. She disregarded it as simple theatrics and put it out of her mind.

It was months before she gave the green dragon a second thought. The cyborg had been infiltrating a facility in Monaco when he overextended himself and let himself get shot. He managed to complete the mission and retreated to the safehouse before he activated a distress signal. When Moira arrived, he lay on the floor of the warehouse, unconscious and bleeding, with the little green dragon standing protectively over him.

No…that wasn’t possible. The hardlight projection should have dissipated with loss of consciousness, or at least dropped into an idle state. Instead, this construct was actively trying to protect the cyborg, baring its fangs at Moira as she approached.

It hissed.

Moira stopped. So did the dragon.

It cocked its head, regarding her…warily? No. Impossible. Hardlight constructs were nothing more than programs and machinations of technology, no more intelligent than a hologram or a marble sculpture. Any emotion it showed was false, a mere facsimile of life.

However, hardlight constructs also could not produce sound, whereas this…apparition had clearly voiced an audible hiss. Definitely impossible for a hardlight construct, which could only mean that this was something entirely different.

_Fascinating._

So, the first order of business would be to determine what this little creature actually was. Was it alive? A mechanical projection? Part of the cyborg’s cybernetics? Intelligent or automated?

Moira crouched beside the cyborg’s fallen form and more closely examined the dragon. It was translucent and seemed somewhat incomplete, as if its back half were only partially constructed, or as if it were made of glass and somehow broken.

“What are you, little thing?” She asked softly and cautiously extended her left hand. 

The dragon made a piteous whine and dropped its head to nuzzle at the cyborg’s cheek, but skirted away from her fingers. 

“Come now,” she cooed, as if the thing were one of her rabbits, and tried to inch closer. “No need for that. Come here, little thing. Just let me–”

She tried to snatch her hand out and grab the creature, but it dissipated into sparkling motes of emerald light before her fingers could connect. Damn. She looked around, but the dragon seemed to have entirely disappeared, which created a whole new line of exciting questions. She would absolutely need to question the cyborg about it.

Ah. The cyborg.

She turned her attention to him, still bleeding and unconscious. 

“I suppose that means I’ll have to fix you up,” she sighed, and began the far less interesting task of tending to his wounds.

*****

The cyborg did not regain consciousness until after extraction, and Moira did not have a chance to speak to him alone until at least a week later. In that time, she had reviewed any Blackwatch surveillance footage with the green dragon and poured over what little of the cyborg’s file was unclassified for her clearance level. From the scant evidence she’d managed to gather, she’d developed a wide range of hypotheses as to what the little dragon could be, but she was nowhere close to reaching any sort of conclusion. She needed to speak to the cyborg and then get her hands on the creature herself. Once she’d given it a physical examination, she would start with a nanite scan or a bioelectrical scan, and then continue with diagnostics until she’d determined what exactly it was. After that, well…the list of tests she wanted to run on the creature was as long as her arm, depending on what it ended up being. 

Was it alive? If so, where did it obtain nutrients or energy? Could it reproduce? Feel pain? Was it intelligent? What exactly was its connection to the cyborg? If they were connected, could they be separated? There was so much she wanted to know! She hadn’t had something attract her curiosity like this in years!

She had a thousand questions by the time she was able to corner the cyborg. He had just returned from the Zurich headquarters after Zeigler had demanded to examine his injuries herself. Hah. As if Zeigler’s medicine was somehow better than her own. If anything, Moira was the one more qualified to treat the cybernetic freak of nature. Pillock.

She found him in one of the practice rooms, setting up some sort of training routine that involved climbing, jumping, and a great deal of slashing at training bots with a sword. 

How primitive.

“Genji,” she said idly, striding toward him. She needed to remind herself to call him by his name, as he’d been quite antagonistic the last time she’d called him cyborg. “A word, if you would.”

He glanced at her and looked for a moment as if he’d ignore her and continue his training, but then reluctantly sheathed his blade and approached her. 

“Dr. O’Deorain,” he said. “I have been told that you are responsible for saving me back in Monaco.”

Oh, brilliant! If he felt indebted toward her, she may have an easier time getting him to comply with her wishes. Although, she noted, he hadn’t exactly thanked her, just stated that he knew she had assisted him.

“Indeed,” she said idly. “You got yourself into quite a state. I was fortunate to be able to aid you in time. That’s actually what I came to speak to you about.”

“I am fine,” he said, a little sharply and started to turn away. “You do not need to continue to concern yourself about me.”

Hah. How quaint. 

“Actually, I wanted to ask about your little green companion,” she said before he could return to his training.

The cyborg stopped cold and looked over his shoulder at her.

“…What about her?”

 _Her?_ Well, that was something. The creature had a gender, but was that because she was a living female creature? Or was she a genderless construct that the cyborg had assigned a gender to out of sentiment?

“She was standing over you when I came to help you, as if she was protecting you,” Moira said cautiously, gauging his reaction. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I wondered if you might tell me more about her.”

“She…” he trailed off and put a hand to his chest. “She was protecting me?”

Moira had to work to prevent herself from tapping a finger impatiently.

“Indeed. What is she, I wonder?”

“I suppose she is a guardian of sorts,” the cyborg said slowly. “She and her kind are the defenders of the Shimada Clan.”

Moira’s eyes lit up. “There are others like her?”

He gave her a wary look. “…Yes.” He gave her no more than that single word, but Moira wasn’t deterred.

“How did you come by her?” She asked, trying to probe for more information.

“The same way everyone else in the Shimada bloodline gets their spirit dragons,” he said cautiously, but did not expound upon the process. “The same way we have for centuries.”

The Shimada bloodline? Spirit Dragons? _Centuries?_ The length of time implied that either the dragons (Dragons! Plural!) were either a recent technological development and the Shimada Clan lied about how long they’ve been around to entertain an air of mysticism, or that the so-called “Spirit Dragons” really were some sort of being not created by any modern technology. Could it be possible? Spirit dragons tied to a genetic marker within a bloodline? She had been interested before, but the possibility of a unique and unheard of genetic property made this the most remarkable case she’d had the fortune of stumbling across in years. Could the gene be duplicated? Could other people be given dragons? Could the dragons be duplicated? Replicated? What happened if their partner…host? Were they parasites? What happened if their host died, did the dragon die or did it go elsewhere? What happened to the host if the dragon died? Could it even be killed? What would that do to the host?

She was getting ahead of herself. All she had were the vague statements of a moody cyborg. For all she knew, the creature may be nothing more than a dramatic technological construct and all this talk of spirts was nonsense.

She _had_ to know.

“Is it possible to see her outside of battle?” Moira asked and reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. “I would like to examine her. Perhaps if I took a blood sample from you, I could help you better understand–”

The cyborg pulled violently away from her grasp and put a hand on his blade. 

“Do not touch me! I will give you nothing!” He shouted. “I am not one of your experiments, and my dragon is not some lab rat for you to dissect! If you try such a thing again, I will cut your heart from your chest!” He returned to his training and refused to acknowledge Moira’s presence any further.

She never got anything more out of him. Any attempt to broach the subject with the cyborg was met with open hostility. 

Only a few months later, everything went to hell and she was forced to flee from Blackwatch or else face prosecution from Overwatch’s more respected leadership. She found sanctuary in Oasis where she could pursue her research at her leisure, free from the bounds of legality. Engrossed in her own projects, it was years before she thought of the green dragon again.

“Hanzo Shimada,” Akande said, and the surname caught Moira’s attention. “With his skills and resources, he could be a valuable asset to Talon.”

Moira looked closely at the hologram Akande had on display and her eyes fell upon the blue dragon tattoo trailing down his arm. 

Shimada, hm? How interesting.

Well, if the cyborg had refused her experiments all those years ago…then there was always Plan B.


	2. Extraction

“Exiting Venice airspace. Looks like we’re in the clear, Commander.”

“Thanks, Fio. Nice job.”

The shuttle was quiet. Gabe didn’t expect much else, not after all they’d just gone through. Maybe yelling. He wouldn’t have been surprised if McCree had continued the tirade he’d started on while they were trying to escape Talon. Instead, the cowboy sat in a corner in surly silence, arms folded and the brim of his hat pulled down over his eyes.

Thank God. Gabe really didn’t feel like arguing all the way back to Blacksite Munich.

Genji was also quiet, but that was nothing new. The ninja sat next to McCree, examining his equipment like he did after every mission. Maybe he was taking comfort in the familiarity of a routine. Maybe he was trying to distract himself. Maybe he really just didn’t give a shit. It was hard to tell with Genji. He’d expressed something similar to disappointment when their abduction turned into an assassination, but that was the closest Genji had come to conveying a real human emotion all day. Kid kept too much bottled up. If he continued like that, he was going to snap one day and either destroy himself or kill them all. But that was a problem for another day. Gabe had bigger concerns right now.

Only six people knew about Operation Retribution: the four members of the infiltration team, Fio, and Jack. Jack and Fio didn’t know the details of the operation, Jack barely knew Gabe was even going to do something, and Fio was only given enough intel to know where to drop them off and pick them up.

And yet Antonio knew Blackwatch planned to abduct him. If Talon had learned with their own intelligence that Blackwatch was planning an infiltration, they would have suspected an assassination, not a kidnapping. No, this wasn’t Talon intelligence. Blackwatch had a traitor.

It wasn’t Genji – the kid barely knew who the hell Antonio even was. It sure as hell wasn’t Jesse, Fio didn’t know the details, which left–

“We seem to have made the news,” Moira said, scanning through her tablet. “The speculation has already started.”

She sat across from him, appearing utterly unconcerned. Of course she did. Goddamn, how could he be so blind? She’d played him like a fool.

_Moira._

Moira, who kept her cool the entire mission. Moira, who would do anything to further her research. Moira, who he’d had multiple arguments with regarding human testing. Moira, who’d been conveniently delayed in her move to Blacksite Rome before Talon blew it up. Moira, who he still needed, traitor or not.

Smoke began to rise from his fingertips at the thought before Gabe hastily got himself under control.

“Hey, Commander?” Fio’s voice came over the intercom. “I’ve been given orders to change our landing destination.”

“What?!” Gabe snapped his head up. “By who?”

“Strike Commander Morrison,” Her voice was cautious. “I’ve been ordered to reroute to Watchpoint: Zurich.”

McCree snorted from the corner, but thankfully didn’t give any further comment.

“Alright, Fio,” Gabe said. “Comply. Change course.”

“Already done, Commander.”

Gabe folded his arms and leaned back. His eyes fell on Moira, still casually scrolling through her tablet. How had he let this happen? What was he going to do? What was he going to tell Jack? Hell. This could very well be the end of Blackwatch if he wasn’t careful. He sighed and closed his eyes.

Damn it all.


	3. Smoke

Gabe awoke screaming.

His eyes snapped open and he bolted upright, one hand clutching at his chest. His gaze darted around, quickly taking in his surroundings: dark room, blue LED clock (03:26), desk, chair, window (moonlight through closed blinds), footlocker, his own bed. Familiar. Officer’s barracks. His room, just a little too cold. Zurich. 

He rubbed at his eyes. A dream. It was just a fucking dream. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

Or tried to. 

He couldn’t breathe. Oh God. It wasn’t just a dream. He couldn’t _breathe._

His lungs screamed, but no amount of desperate gasping could get air into his lungs. He scrambled for his phone, his communicator, anything, and fell out of the bed, crumpling to the floor. He’d managed to knock his phone to the floor on the way and he grabbed at it, shaking fingers trying to fumble his way to the right screen, trying to send a text for help. He watched in horror as his fingers dissipated into smoke and the phone clattered to the floor.

His mouth opened in a silent scream, but only smoke poured out. He clawed at his mouth, his face, his neck, trying to clear the smoke, but his fingers were gone and his palms soon followed. His lungs burned and he had the distinct feeling that he was falling apart from the inside out.

Oh God. This was the worst episode he’d ever had. This was it. He was going to die. Those fucking SEP injections had finally destabilized him enough that he was going to just dissolve into nothing. Goddammit, Moira’s treatments were supposed to be stabilizing him! This wasn’t supposed to keep happening! What good were all those fucking nanites if they couldn’t keep him solid?

Fuck, this isn’t how he wanted to die. He always thought he would die in battle, shot or stabbed or bombed, not suffocating alone, killed by some freak side effect from some fucking government drugs he got shot up with twenty-five years ago. He never told Jesse how proud he was of him, never told Jack just how much he loved him. This was it. It was over. There wouldn’t even be a body to bury. He would just be gone.

With a silent wail smothered in smoke, Gabe collapsed into a cloud of smog.

Death didn’t come.

Slowly, Gabe realized he was still aware. Aware and in _pain._ Everything hurt. Every cell of his body was dissolving and reforming over and over, leaving him roiling, churning cloud of agony. It was torture. Was he not even allowed to die? Was he damned to live tormented as this…this thing?

No. _Fuck_ no. He was _not_ going to be defeated by this _fucking_ condition. He could reform. He’d never had a total body collapse, but he’d put his hands and feet back together before. He could do this. He was _stronger_ than this. He just had to concentrate. 

As he pushed through the pain and concentrated on literally pulling himself together, he realized that he was aware of his surroundings. It wasn’t the same as sight, per se, but he could tell he’d drifted away from the bed, closer to the window. He focused on his surroundings, pictured himself whole and human in the room.

Gradually, he felt his form grow more concentrated, more firm. Then, all at once, he was solid again. Human. Alive. He crumpled to the ground, sprawled flat on his stomach.

He lay there for a few long minutes, catching his breath, then finally crawled over to his phone and picked it up. He shakily typed out a message.

**[4568_15: Reyes, Gabriel]** _your lab. 10 min._

The reply was instantaneous. Odd. What was she doing awake at this hour?

**[1258_89: O’Deorain, Moira]** _Of course. What happened?_

**[4568_15: Reyes, Gabriel]** _worst episode yet. full body collapse._

**[1258_89: O’Deorain, Moira]** _I’ll be there._

Gabe sighed and got to his feet, glancing at his clock. 04:06. It was going to be a long night.


	4. Friends

“Where I’m going, you can’t follow.”

What in the hell was that supposed to mean? McCree was Gabriel’s right hand man, his protégé, at his side through thick and thin. What the hell did Gabriel have to do that McCree couldn’t follow, couldn’t even help? McCree had wanted to argue, but it was Gabriel’s next words that really set him off.

“You can’t handle it, Jesse. It’s not something I can trust with someone like you.”

What the fuck. What the actual _fuck._

Gabriel left after that, not giving McCree a chance to argue. A day later, he got a text from the Commander.

**[4568_15: Reyes, Gabriel]** _In fact, it might not be a bad idea to rethink your career choices. Maybe go into journalism like you’ve always talked about._

That was the final straw, though it was by no means the first. He’d been collecting a steady pile of concerns for a while now: Blackwatch in the spotlight, the growing arguing and infighting, the protests in the streets, Genji’s abrupt departure from Blackwatch last month, and now this. 

Gabriel didn’t trust him. After all they’d been through together…they were friends. Hell, they were _family._ Or so McCree thought. Well, fine. Fuck it. If Gabriel couldn’t trust him, then what was the goddamn point? Enough was enough. He was out.

McCree submitted his resignation that day. Gabriel didn’t even respond to the email.

Well, _fine._

McCree packed his things and thought about trekking through the Watchpoint to say his goodbyes, then realized he had no one to say goodbye to. Genji took off last month, with a cryptic “I need to find myself” as his only explanation. Rein and Torb had been forced to retire a few months before that. Angela had left on questionable terms, though she cited the reason for her departure as her desire to focus on her medical career. Jack had stopped giving a shit about him once he started siding with Gabriel in their increasingly frequent arguments. Ana was dead, Liao was dead, any of the old guard in Blackwatch were either retired or dead, and Lena was…

McCree paused mid-step, hesitating for the first time. Lena was still around, surely she’d want to know if he…aw, hell. Who was he kidding? He’d done a pretty good job of distancing himself over this past year. He’d done a pretty damn good job of making sure he had no friends left.

Fuck it. He didn’t need anyone anyway. McCree shouldered his pack and left the Watchpoint for the last time. 

It was two months later when the Zurich Headquarters exploded, taking Jack and Gabriel down with it. Five weeks after that, the Petras Act went into effect and the last remains of Overwatch were officially disbanded. McCree watched the news from a bar in Nevada, brooding over a glass of bourbon. 

It was only then that he realized he truly was alone.


	5. Chaos

Gabe, for once in his goddamn life, had a morning to himself. The usual Tuesday meeting had been delayed due to Gerard’s honeymoon and Gabe’s current intelligence sources weren’t due to check in yet, which left Gabe unexpectedly free until noon. It wasn’t often that he found himself with downtime, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain. He made his way through the halls, nursing a mug of coffee and considering his options. He could pull up a recording of the Laker’s game from last week, or maybe rent that movie Jack was yammering on about. 

He considered it, taking a sip of coffee. Nah. He was too restless for that. Maybe he’d lift some weights. Gabe made his way down to the gym, idly pulling up a newsfeed on his phone as he walked. 

The sounds of sparring reached his ears as he approached the gym, grunts and thumps, along with the occasional short laugh. Seems like someone else was making productive use of the morning. He strode into the gym to find McCree and Genji sparring in an open area covered in floor mats.

Huh. Looked like McCree had pulled the new kid out of his shell a little bit. Genji was stand-offish and fucking angry about everything, so seeing him sparring with McCree in a relaxed environment was a good sign. Gabe pocketed his phone and leaned against the wall to watch, taking another sip of coffee. 

They fought like they were dancing. Give and take, push and pull, ebb and flow. They danced around each other like water, more like they were going through the motions of sparring than actually having a fight. Which was fine, really. They were two agents having a morning workout, not enemies trying to kill each other on the field. They were even having a conversation as they sparred, though Gabe couldn’t make out the words from where he was.

However, the longer he watched, the more he wondered about what a real fight would look like, and the more concerned he became. He’d seen McCree fight a hundred times; they’d been working together for years. But Genji…there was something about how Genji finished each engagement, like he _expected_ McCree to react a certain way, and if McCree didn’t respond properly, if he didn’t do the right “dance step,” then he was thrown off. It was too…orderly. Too neat. Like a martial artist who had never fought outside of the rules of a dojo. Like he’d never been in a real fight.

Gabe took another sip of coffee and frowned. If that was true, he had a problem. 

McCree and Genji took a step back and shook hands, apparently finished, and Gabe stepped forward.

“Howdy, Boss. Fancy seein’ you down here,” McCree said. 

“Jesse, Genji,” Gabe greeted. “Found myself with some free time. Thought I’d lift some weights and found you knuckleheads here instead.”

McCree laughed. “Well, we’re just finishin’ up. All yours, Boss.”

“Yeah, I was watching the show. You call that a fight?” Gabe raised an eyebrow.

“Aw, we were just having a go around, you know?” McCree said easily. “Ain’t like it was a real fight.”

“I wonder,” Gabe said, fixing his eyes on Genji. 

Genji met his gaze, unblinking.

McCree looked between then. “Hey now, it was just a workout. How about we go and hit the showers?”

“Are you saying I cannot fight?” Genji asked, ignoring McCree.

“I’m saying that I’ve never seen you fight, and what I saw didn’t impress me.”

“I was not trying to impress you, Commander,” Genji’s voice was icy.

“Obviously,” Gabe said dryly. “Have you even been in a real fight? And won, that is?”

Genji’s nostrils flared over his faceplate and his respirator hissed as he let out a sharp breath. 

“I was trained by the Shimada clan to be a ninja and an assassin! I was trained by the best teachers in Japan and–”

“And you fucked off and spent your time in arcades, clubs, and bars. You spent more time getting high and getting off than doing any actual work for the Shimadas. And you didn’t answer the question, boy.”

If looks could kill, then Gabe wouldn’t be doing much fighting of his own anymore after the venomous glare Genji was sending his way.

“…I’ve made my way out of fights before. Not related to Shimada business.”

“Ah,” Gabe said with a nod. “Bar fights. So you’ve won fights against untrained thugs.”

The livid flare in Genji’s eyes gave Gabe all the answer he needed.

“You’ve never actually been in a real fight,” Gabe continued. “Apart from the obvious one. That’s good to know. We’ll have to do some training before I let you out in the field.”

“ _What?_ ” Genji snarled.

“Oh, don’t get so worked up. You’ll get out there eventually, but I’m not going to throw you against trained soldiers and killers when all you know are some kata and exercises,” Gabe said evenly.

“I am trained in at least four different styles–”

“Of martial arts that you’ve never had to use practically,” Gabe interrupted.

Genji wasn’t deterred. “I was trained to assassinate–”

“But you never _have,_ ” Gabe finished. “You’ve been trained to do a lot of things, but you’ve never actually done any of it. From what I understand, your brother did all the work while you were feeling good about beating some drunk in a bar. You’re not going out in the field unless you’ve proven to me that you know how to fight. And not just fight in a dojo, but fight well. You need to know how to fight dirty.”

“Why would I ever need to fight dirty?” Genji sneered.

“Oookay,” McCree interjected loudly. “Yeah, I’m gonna…I’m hitting the showers. Now. Good luck, Genji!”

He fled the room and Gabe had to hold back a smile. McCree didn’t want to get dragged into this, and with good reason.

“Alright, kid. You think you can fight? Let’s fight. Only rule is that the winner gives a clean disengage after the loser taps out. Everything else is fair game. Understand?”

Genji gave him a suspicious look.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Gabe took another sip of coffee. Ugh. It was getting cold.

Genji considered for a moment, then settled into a defensive stance. 

“Understood,” his eyes squinted in a way that told Gabe that he was sneering at him from behind his faceplate. “Come at me, Reyes.”

Gabe shrugged. “Alright.”

Without warning, he flung the rest of his coffee into Genji’s eyes.

“Argh!” Genji clearly wasn’t expecting the unorthodox move and he flung a hand up to wipe at his eyes.

Gabe didn’t give him the chance and lunged forward with a right hook to the side of Genji’s head, smashing the ceramic mug against his skull. Still trying to blink coffee out of his eyes, Genji staggered to the side and threw a blind punch that Gabe easily side-stepped. Genji took a step back and tried to reset and settle back into a defensive stance, but Gabe didn’t let him. 

This. This is exactly what Gabe was talking about. In a real fight, there would be no back and forth polite exchange of blows, allowing each opponent to reset for the next engagement. It was do or die, down and dirty. Gabe lunged forward as Genji retreated and bull-rushed him. He hit Genji hard in the chest with his shoulder and kept going, shoving the smaller man backward until he slammed against the gym wall.

Genji, to his credit, was extremely fast and very smart. Even blinded by the coffee and staggered from the mug to the side of his head, he still tried to get his feet positioned against the wall to push off, but he couldn’t compete with Gabe’s strength and Gabe never once let up. The moment Genji hit the wall, Gabe threw his arm against Genji’s throat, pinning him by the neck against the wall. Without giving him time to respond, Gabe hit him hard in the stomach, once, twice, three times. 

On the third hit, Genji slapped the wall with an open palm in two rapid taps and let out a strangled cry. 

“ _Matte!_ ” 

Gabe immediately relented, taking a full two steps back and leaving Genji to slump down the wall to his knees.

The entire fight had lasted less than fifteen seconds.

Genji knelt on the ground, coughing, sputtering, and wiping at his eyes. Gabe grabbed a clean towel from a shelf against the wall and wordlessly handed it to Genji, letting him clean himself up before he helped him to his feet. 

“You alright?” he asked.

“That…you were…that was…”

“Dirty?”

Genji shot him a cold look from over the towel. Gabe shrugged. 

“That was…” Genji took a moment to look for the right word. “Unfair.”

“Yeah, it was,” Gabe nodded. “That’s the point.”

“To cheat?” the cyborg snapped.

“To win.”

“Tch,” Genji scoffed and tossed the towel to the large laundry bin in the corner. “Very noble. A man cheating to beat someone half his age. I hope you’re proud.”

“I didn’t beat you to humiliate you, Genji,” Gabe said, starting to pick up the pieces of the mug. “I did it to teach you a lesson.”

“Yes, you’re better than me. Very good. I’m going to go shower now.”

“ _No,_ ” Gabe straightened up and spoke with enough force that Genji paused. “No, that’s not why. I did it to show you that you cannot rely on the rules of the dojo you were trained with. A real fight is too chaotic, too volatile. There’s no such thing as a fair fight. When your life is on the line, you can’t trust that your opponent will be fair. You have to fight with everything you have, or you’ll die. Fairness? Honor? Nobility? None of that matters on the battlefield. A man who dies with honor is still dead.”

For the first time since Gabe started talking, the anger faded from Genji’s eyes, replaced with uncertainty.

“But…should we not strive to be honorable men?”

“Yeah,” Gabe said, tossing the last of the broken mug in the trash. “But at what cost? Honor doesn’t do anyone any good if it means letting the scum we fight win. How does your honorable death help us if it means letting Talon win? Or Deadlock? Or Los Muertos?” 

Gabe leveled Genji a solemn look.

“Did you brother fight with honor when he killed you?”

Genji’s head snapped up, a flicker of that familiar rage returning before it faded, replaced by defeat.

“…he attacked me from behind. He tried to kill me before I could defend myself.”

Gabe nodded. “Like the assassin he was trained to be.”

Genji’s shoulders slumped, and for a moment he looked utterly lost. Gabe couldn’t help himself and his stern expression softened. 

“Hey. I didn’t do this to discourage you. I did this to help you. I’m not going to set you up to fail, Genji. I take care of my own.”

Genji snorted and headed for the door.

“I’m serious,” Gabe continued. “You’re deadly, Genji. You are very skilled and an incredible asset to the team. I’m not discounting that. You just need to learn how to stop holding back. If you want, I can set some time aside to train you. Teach you to fight like I do. And if you’re not interested in that, then talk to McCree. I know he’d be willing to do the same, and I trust him to teach you how to be as lethal as we are.”

“I’ll think about it,” he finally said, pausing in the doorframe. “…Thank you, Commander.”

He vanished out the door and Gabe stared after him for a moment before looking down at himself. 

Ugh. He’d managed to get a good amount of that coffee on himself. Maybe he’d shower and watch that Laker’s game after all.

There were worse ways to spend a morning, after all.


	6. Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic rating has changed from T to M. Please read the updated tags! Graphic violence, dismemberment, and near-death experiences. Genji describes losing the fight to Hanzo.

It had been a good week. The kind of good week where everything had gone according to plan, they’d taken down an entire drug cartel, and Reyes had given everyone involved the weekend off to celebrate. They didn’t even have to go back to base until Monday, which is how McCree and Genji ended up sharing their evening on the balcony of a beautiful resort hotel in Rio de Janeiro, away from any commanding officers or doctors who would tell them what they could or could not do. This meant, of course, that the pair had immediately seized upon the opportunity to smoke, drink, and talk shit about everyone not present.

“And she’s so demanding!” Genji continued, waving the cigarette in his hand. His faceplate was off and sitting between them, next to the bottle of bourbon that was already half-empty. “You know she tries to monitor my eating habits? Like, aggressively monitor? She has daily meal recommendations for me. Daily! It’s like she’s trying to plan out my whole life!”

McCree half grinned and took a drag on his own cigarette. They hadn’t been able to find his brand of cigarillos, but these had a unique flavor he didn’t mind. 

“Aw, Angela just worries about you, is all,” McCree said, pouring them both another glass. “She’s a doctor. That’s a thing she does.” 

Genji snorted. “Well, she could worry a little less. Just because she saved my life doesn’t mean she owns it.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’d love to hear that,” McCree chuckled. “Speaking of, if Ang finds out that I let you smoke, she’s going to kill the both of us.”

“Then it’s a good thing neither of us are going to tell her,” Genji said dryly.

“Good plan. I don’t fancy meeting my end at the hands of a tiny Swiss doctor.” McCree took another swig. They’d both already had quite a bit to drink, and he was starting to feel pleasantly buzzed and relaxed, enough that he let his next question slip before he could stop it.

“…What was it like?”

Genji glanced at him. “What was what like?”

Aw, shit. Well, too late now. McCree didn’t meet his eyes, hiding behind the motion of taking another drag of the cigarette.

“…Dyin’.”

Genji fell silent and let his hand drop, resting against his knee.

“…Shit, Genji. I’m sorry. Forget I said–”

“Cold,” Genji interrupted, his voice soft. “It was cold.”

McCree watched him from the corner of his eye, waiting for him to continue or else change the subject.

Genji let out a long sigh and tipped his head back to rest against the wall, looking up at the stars. 

“…I haven’t told anyone about this. Not even Angela.”

“You don’t have to if y’don’t want to,” McCree said quickly. “It was stupid of me to ask.”

“No. I want to,” Genji closed his eyes and let out a breath. “I need to. Someone needs to hear it. If only because then…then it’s not just me. There’s at least one other person who knows what I went through. Who…understands.”

McCree nodded slowly. “I’m all ears, partner.”

Genji watched the stars for a while longer before continuing.

“He tried to talk to me, at first. Tried to get me to see reason. Honor of the clan, how much I was personally making life hard for him and the Elders, what would Father say, blah blah blah. I blew him off. Like I always did. Told him to go fuck himself.”

McCree let out an amused snort. “Sounds like you.”

Genji cracked a smile for a moment before it faded.

“Then he told me that he knew. He knew I was selling Clan secrets to Overwatch, and that this was my final chance to redeem myself. I…didn’t take him seriously. Thought he’d just go cry to the Elders and have me disinherited from the Clan, which is really all I wanted. I told him to go fuck himself and then go fuck all the Elders in turn. And then I turned my back on him and walked away.”

Genji took a long drink, but McCree didn’t interrupt.

“He struck me from behind. Didn’t even give me a chance to defend myself. He just…attacked. Like a fucking coward. He put a gash across my back and it _burned._ I turned around, drew my katana, but it just hurt so much and he was already on me…I didn’t stand a chance. Once he saw the blade in my hand, he didn’t hesitate. Just cut my arm off, like it was nothing.”

He looked down at his prosthetic arm for a moment, then flexed and released a trio of shuriken. 

“I remember seeing my arm on the floor, still holding the katana. I watched my own fingers go slack without being able to feel it. It didn’t hurt. My back hurt, but my arm didn’t. It was like…like my body didn’t believe it. Didn’t want to feel it. I should have run away. I should have just turned and fled, but I guess my fight or flight response was pissed. I think I tried to summon my dragon, I’m not sure. I remember charging at him and then I was suddenly face down on the floor. I don’t even remember what happened, don’t know how I got there, but I tried to get to my feet and _that_ hurt.”

Genji rubbed absently one leg.

“He cut my legs off at the knee. I got one stump under me and tried to put weight on it and it…” he trailed off for a moment, eyes staring at something only he could see. “It was the worst pain I’d ever felt. Raw, burning agony searing up my thigh. I screamed. I fell onto my back and _writhed._ And above me, I could see Hanzo, wearing that perfect fucking suit, splattered with my own blood, and he looked so cold. Like it didn’t bother him. Like I was just another fucking obstacle in his way. Like he didn’t…”

Genji choked and McCree couldn’t stop himself from sliding closer and putting a hand on Genji’s shoulder.

“…like he didn’t care about me. Like he didn’t love me. Like I wasn’t his little brother.”

McCree gave Genji’s shoulder a squeeze and didn’t comment on the tears that escaped the cyborg’s eyes.

“He could have left it there. He could have just left me to bleed out, but I guess he wanted to be sure. Or maybe it was his way of making sure the ancestors knew I had been disowned by the Shimada clan. He summoned his dragons into his blade and struck me once more. The pain was…” Genji shook his head. “…I can’t describe it. It was like the dragons were ripping apart my very soul. Fire and ice and lighting from the inside out, shredding what was left of my body. Only later did I learn that it was hurting my dragon, too. Tearing her apart. I think she tried to protect me, somehow. Used her spirit to guard my soul from dragon fangs.”

Genji took one more drag on his cigarette and ground it out on the ground before flicking the butt over the edge of the balcony.

“He left after that. I don’t remember seeing him leave; I just remember knowing I was alone. I was bleeding and broken, and everything hurt. I was in so much agony that I couldn’t even move. I just laid there, waiting for death, _praying_ for death, just so I would stop hurting. I started feeling cold, and the cold slowly became numbing, and that wasn't so bad. I stopped hurting. I stopped feeling anything. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I started feeling light headed. I remember looking at the ceiling and seeing the security cameras and wondered if Hanzo would delete the footage or show it to the Elders. Or if he even cared. My vision got dark and my head swam and then…I died.”

Genji threw back the last of his drink.

“Or at least, I thought I did. Angela says I never achieved total brain death, though my heart stopped. I woke up in the Overwatch ICU and…” he waved his empty glass. “The rest is history.”

“Aw, hell,” McCree’s voice was rough with emotion and he pulled Genji into a hug.

“H-hey!” Genji tried to push off, his face flushing, but McCree didn’t let go.

“Aw, buddy,” McCree wailed a little too loud. “That’s awful! I’m right sorry you had to go through all that! If I ever see that brother of yours, I’ll shoot ‘em, just for you!”

“That’s wonderful, thank you for defending my honor, now get off!” He gave McCree a solid shove and managed to squirm out of the cowboy’s grip, scrambling to his feet. He teetered dangerously. 

McCree sat on the ground beneath him and gave a pitiful sniff. Genji sighed.

“C’mon,” Genji said, offering a hand to McCree and helping him to his feet. “I’m too drunk for this now. Let’s get inside and go to bed.”

“Sounds like a plan, partner.”


	7. Stake Out

Stakeouts with McCree always put Gabe on edge. Not because he was worried McCree would go flying off the handle at any moment, like Genji, or because his sheer presence made Gabe uncomfortable, like Moira, but because the gunslinger couldn’t keep his goddamn mouth shut. It wasn’t like McCree would just make casual conversation like a normal human being, either. He always had some weird introspective shit to say.

Thankfully, McCree had been mostly quiet so far. They were camped out in a parked car, watching a door down the street for signs of cartel activity. If he could just get through the next few hours without McCree making it weird, Gabe would count this mission as a success, the drug cartel be damned.

“Hey Boss?”

Oh no. 

“Yeah, McCree?”

Don’t do it.

“Why’d you save me?”

Goddammit.

Gabe turned to look at him. “What the fuck are you talking about, Jesse?”

“You know,” McCree waved a hand. “Deadlock, all those years ago. Why save my ass instead of throw me in jail? Yeah, you made me a deal, but why make the deal at all? Why me?”

“You really wanna have this talk? Here? Now?”

“We ain’t having much else in the way of conversation.”

“Maybe that’s on purpose.”

“Just wondering why you stuck your neck out for me back then.” McCree shrugged and looked away, but not before Gabe saw the uncertainty in his eyes.

_Goddammit._

Gabe sighed and leaned back in the driver’s seat.

“Something bring this on?”

“Naw,” McCree said and shrugged again. “Forget about it.”

Gabe would have if not for that kicked puppy look on McCree’s face.

“You wanna know why I offered you the deal? Why I didn’t just kick you to prison like the rest of Deadlock?”

McCree gave him a sideways glance, but said nothing.

“It was because you were so much more than just a thug. You had so much potential, and it was wasted on Deadlock. I could see what you could become.”

“The hell you talking about? I was a scrawny little twig with a lot of hate and nothing else. You’re the one who made me into something more.”

Gabe blinked at the admission and McCree looked quickly away.

“I can’t make something out of nothing, Jesse. When I had you in that interrogation room, I saw a lot more than that. You were pissed, yeah. Mad and hateful, but that’s not all there was to you. I’ve seen it before, too. Gang kids who’ve been hurt so much that hate is the only thing they have left. But you… You were scared, but not cowardly. Pissed, but not malicious. You were wildfire, but I was sure that I could temper that fire into something more. And through it all, even when I had you on your ass after you threw a punch at me, you had this look of raw, stubborn determination,” Gabe’s voice softened. “…and hope. Even when I had you beat, you weren’t ready to give up. I wanted that on my team. I knew you were wasted on being a Deadlock thug and to see you locked away to rot in prison would be a tragedy. And I was fucking right. You’re smart, skilled, and a good man. You just needed a little guidance.”

Gabe took a sip of his coffee and made the mistake of glancing at McCree. Aw, shit. He looked like he was going to cry.

“Aw, Boss…” McCree said thickly. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever…I’m so…You…”

“I just wasn’t expecting you to be so _fucking irritating,_ ” Gabe snapped. “Recruiting you was a mistake, and if I had known what I was getting in to then I never would have done it. Get your shit together and get your head back in the game, ingrate. We’re on a mission, for fuck’s sake.”

That surprised a laugh out of McCree, who looked back at the door they were supposed to be watching.

“Oh, hey. Looks like we might finally have some action, Boss.”

Gabe glanced over and saw their target entering the building.

“Finally. Let’s move.”

The moment was gone, and thank God for that. Gabe wasn’t in the headspace to deal with emotions right now, either McCree’s or his own. Maybe they’d talk about it later, when they weren’t about to bust into a drug cartel’s hideout, but the conversation had made Gabe realize that he’d probably need to get around to telling Jesse something that he’d known for years.

That he was proud of the man he’d become.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we end the fic, not with a bang, but with a "....Eh. *shrug*" Not my proudest fic, but I really just wanted to finish Blackwatch Week on time. XD

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, hit me up on my [tumblr!](http://dabbledrabbleprose.tumblr.com)


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